Devil's Cage
by Joella
Summary: Picking up where Devil's Trap left the Winchester men, they fight to keep their family from being torn apart from their biggest foe. AU story.
1. Chapter 1

**Devil's Cage**

Disclaimer: I do not have any rights to the world of "Supernatural," its characters, or any of its storylines. They belong to Kripke. I am just borrowing them for this story.

_Prologue_

Dean was dragged out of a deep slumber by muttering. He blearily opened his eyes to see the sun peeking through the motel room's curtains. The muttering became more agitated and increased in volume. Dean rolled over in time to see his younger brother, Sam, sit bolt upright with a start, his eyes unfocused and staring through the wall into another world. His face was slicked with sweat, his shirt clung to his torso, his sides were heaving with gasps for air. Thin parallel lines of a healing wound stood out against the starkness of his pale face.

"Sam. You ok? . . . Sammy!" Getting no response, Dean slid out of bed over to the other one and grasped his brother by the shoulders, squeezing to get Sam's attention. He peered into sightless eyes. "What's wrong with you?"

Sam came to with a start, his eyes blinking furiously while his breathing slowed down. Sam recoiled to see Dean so close, his gaze sharp as he watched his brother finally come out of whatever had had him in its grip. Sam reached up to rub his left shoulder absently while shifting away from Dean. "What?"

"Did you have another nightmare? I've never seen you this upset."

"Did I? I . . .I don't. . .I didn't _see_ anything, there was just sound, smells, and . . . pain."

"What about? Who?"

"Me. At least I think it was me. It was just a flash really. I'm in a large room, maybe a barn. I can smell the hay, and the place echoes so it seems huge. I'm on a wooden floor, can't move, and my left arm hurts like crazy. Someone's talking. I'm terrified. . . I'm alone." Sam stopped speaking for a moment, looked inward, shuddered, and continued. "My stomach explodes; I think I must have been stabbed or something, it hurts that bad. I hear fire roaring, choke on the smoke, feel the heat against my skin. You're calling my name. That's all." Sam looked down and saw that his hands were shaking so he gripped his knees and looked up at Dean through his bangs. His pupils had dilated so much that his normally hazel eyes appeared almost black.

Dean straightened and then leaned forward, grasping Sam's shoulder. "It seems to me more like a nightmare than a vision. You've always seen what's happening in your visions."

"But it's never been about me!"

"Nooo, but you still always _see_ and if it was about you, I think you'd have a ringside seat. You didn't feel a blindfold did you?" Dean prayed that the answer would be negative, and it was granted.

But. . .what if it's a vision?" Sam's voice rose a little with panic.

"Even if it was, which I don't think, what did I tell you? As long as I'm around, nothing bad is going to happen to you. I mean it! You said you heard my voice, so I was there. . .and you know I'd pull your ass out of any fire."

Sam's body gave one final shudder before relaxing into his customary slouch. He ran the fingers of one hand through his shaggy shock of hair and swung his legs to the floor.

"Get a shower so we can go get some breakfast."

Sam dug into his duffle bag for clothes and retreated into the bathroom leaving Dean alone in the room. Dean listened for the shower to start and then allowed himself to feel the panic he had been suppressing in front of his brother. He dug the heels of his hands into his closed eyes until he saw sparks. A burning began behind his eyelids that he ruthlessly suppressed. He briefly thought about calling his dad but was certain he'd get voicemail, so what was the point. It had been 9 days since they had seen the truck's taillights turn left at the end of the alleyway before they had left Chicago themselves to hole up in Effingham, Illinois. Fear swept over Dean in a wave. _Was_ it a vision? Or a nightmare? Dean took scant comfort in the fact that he was in the vision/nightmare, and he knew nothing could keep him from his brother. He would keep him safe. Dean would just keep a closer watch on Sam and hope his worry wouldn't show on his face. Of course, he was a master poker player so that shouldn't be too hard. Watch and wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One**

_Disclaimer: None of the characters or the world of Supernatural belong to me. They are the genius of Kripke, et. al. _

Dean's eyelids stickily unsealed to the opening lyrics of Blue Öyster Cult's "Veteran of 1000 Psychic Wars." The song was underscored by a monotonous beeping sound that was already getting on his nerves. The first thing he saw was Sam sprawled in a chair too small for him in a corner of the room. His head was twisted back and to the right, his mouth slightly parted. His left arm was in a sling. At his feet was the source of the music: the laptop. A white-coated figure passed in front of Dean's eyes, and he looked up into a woman's tired eyes. Her face was framed with ash blond hair going grey, and her jacket bore the nametag Dr. Ashcraft.

Dean asked, "Do you have a tongue depressor?"

"What!" she was startled by the request. "What for?"

"Could you just stick it in my brother's mouth? Not enough to choke him but just enough to startle him when he wakes."

"No! How can you be so mean?"

"Huh?"

"Your brother has pretty much lived in that chair for the past three days ever since he checked himself out. He wanted to be here in case. . . Anyway, policy is that we don't allow patients in other patient's rooms longer than a few minutes so . . . I think it was a bad choice for him to be released so early with that head injury, but I was overruled. He was very determined. At least he's been here where I could keep an eye on him."

"Huh?" Dean felt like he'd been hit by a truck and then remembered he had been.

"What's wrong with him?"

"He has a concussion, broken collarbone, assorted bruises, and cracked ribs. He also cannot sleep for very long without falling into a nightmare."

"Oh, that's normal for Sam. He's been having them for about the past nine months."

"Has he seen a specialist?"

"No, but we know what has caused them."

Dr. Ashcraft gazed at Dean, but he clamped his mouth shut on anything else he might have said. She finally shifted topics. "What do you remember about the accident?"

Dean wondered what had already been said and then stiffened and blurted "Dad! How's my father? Where is he? Was he badly hurt?" The last time he'd seen his father flashed through his mind as he remembered what the demon had done to him wearing his father's skin. Dad had chewed Sam out for not killing him. He was afraid to hear the answer.

"You're father's fine. He's in another room. He's visited here a few times but he still needs to be admitted. How _did_ he get shot? You three were hit by a truck."

Dean looked at the doctor not exactly sure what to say. He was sure the others had already told a story, and he was afraid to contradict their tale. "I was asleep in the back seat, so I really don't remember much at all."

Sam had been hearing voices for a while, but it finally penetrated his sleep that one of the voices belonged to Dean. He woke with a start and struggled out of his chair towards the bed with a goofy grin on his face. "You're awake! They said you probably wouldn't wake up." Sam's face was haggard from lack of sleep, and Dean could now see the square bandage covering Sam's right temple.

"Dude. You know how I live to prove authority figures wrong."

Dr. Ashcraft watched the two brothers for a minute, both faces split with grins and matching dimples, marveling at the resiliency of youth. Loathe to break up the reunion she coughed and said, "Sam, I need you to go out into the hall while I run some short diagnostic tests on your brother. Why don't you go grab a bite to eat?"

"Sam, you not eating?"

"I kinda have been forgetting to; coffee is fine for me."

"Look, go get something in you before you fall down. You look like crap."

"Nice…." Sam mock-growled. "I'll be back soon."

Dr. Ashcraft had been making notations in Dean's chart, indicating his memory seemed almost up to date and he was tracking conversations and movements. If there was a neurological problem, she couldn't spot it yet. When she finished, she gazed appraisingly at the older Winchester boy and said, "Will you do me a favor?"

Leery of doctors, Dean answered, "Depends on what it is."

"Send your brother back to the motel. If he doesn't get some rest as opposed to catnaps, he's going to crash hard. I see you can't get him to eat either."

"I can try. We're. . .we just watch out for each other. Usually, I have to patch him up." Dean winced as the doctor latched onto his incautious words. He must still be woozy to make such a dumb-ass comment like that.

"What does that mean? You boys get hurt often? How did your father get shot?"

In a desperate attempt to distract the doctor, Dean said the first thing that came into his mind. "Earlier you said Sam needed to be here in case… In case what?

Dr. Ashcraft sighed, "The injuries you received put you in a coma. Your body received a massive shock, and I gave very low odds of your surviving much less waking up. Sam was adamant that you would pull through. Said you'd survived worse odds before."

Dean remembered Roy Le Grange's tent in Nebraska where he'd been healed after a battle that left him fatally wounded. "Yeah, Sam just won't let me die."

Dr. Ashcraft felt Dean really meant it and continued, "He said that you needed to know your family was here; it's the most important thing to you."

Dean was taken aback until he remembered a conversation when Sam said 'I'd do anything for you' right before cutting Dean's legs out from under him by saying that he would go back to school and leave Dean alone again. He felt a yawning gulf releasing him briefly from its maw. A reprieve.

"He said he had to show you you weren't alone." She stopped and giggled. "He drove the head nurse crazy. He parked himself in that chair once he checked out and played music on that laptop the whole time. It wasn't just the noise that drove Nurse Turner crazy; it was the choice of songs. Sam insisted that you would be reassured by 'mullet rock.' "

"That's my boy," Dean chuckled.

"I've read research about people in comas being aware of their surroundings so I authorized it. He just had to endure her dirty looks and rude comments. His single-mindedness almost drove her to distraction. He's very monofocused isn't he?"

"You have no idea. I think it runs in the family." Dean shuddered at the remembered sensation of his brother slamming him into a wall, with an empty look of loss in his eyes. It was echoed by the empty pit of solitude in Dean's soul after Sam hoarsely proclaimed he would die if only it killed the demon. They almost had. "You said Sam was going to crash and burn? You were O.K. with his sleeping here so you could keep an eye on him. Should he sleep unmonitored? You were concerned about the concussion."

"If the nightmares are normal, then he should be okay. Will you help me help him?"

"Yeah."

Dr. Ashcraft went to the room's door to see if she could spot Sam. He lunged away from the opposite wall as the door opened and slipped past her before she could even pull back. Dean was struck anew at the lines etched by stress and worry in his brother's face. He noticed the slightly shaking hands and opened his mouth to cajole his brother when their father, John Winchester, was wheeled in through the door by an orderly, his right leg elevated at a slight angle and tightly bandaged. Sam recoiled and retreated to the far corner of the room hunching his shoulders, loathe to leave his brother yet wanting to put distance between himself and his father. Dean's forehead wrinkled with puzzlement before his father's face filled his line of vision.

Dr. Ashcraft, sensing tension, decided to let the family have its reunion in privacy.

"Dean! You're O.K.?" John seemed to be pleading.

Dean shivered as he remembered his father's eyes being a bilious yellow and filled with glee at the pain, physical and mental, he was causing the brothers. The demon's hateful words, spewing from their father's mouth with his voice, sprang to mind and Dean gave his brother a worried look. Was that Sam's problem? Didn't he remember that demons lied? Surely he didn't believe that _he_ was the reason for everything. The look on Sam's face, however, showed he probably did. Damn! Why didn't Dad set things straight with Sam? The tension between the two was a miasma in the air. Why did the two of them end up at odds so much? Dean would get his brother alone and talk him through whatever was bugging him. "Yeah, I'm O.K. What did you guys tell the hospital? They keep asking me, but I told them I was asleep when we were hit."

John said, "I told them someone tried to carjack us when we pulled over for a pit stop. We were heading for the hospital when we were hit." He barely glanced at his youngest before continuing, "I thought you were dead. We wouldn't have been attacked if Sam had finished the job."

Dean sat upright too fast, grabbed his side and hissed, "That's not fair." His eyes turned pleadingly to Sam to be sure his brother knew Dean did not blame him. Sam didn't look angry or defensive at his father's harsh words. He didn't have that coldness that had presaged his walking out of their lives for Stanford. Instead, he seemed to shrink into himself and became even more self-effacing than usual. John ignored his youngest in favor of his eldest, "Dean, we have to start all over again."

Dean tried to ignore the relief those words gave him. More time with Sam; more time with Dad; more time as a familyhe was guilty at the rush of hope that briefly flowed. It sputtered and died as his father continued, "We'll have to split up again; you boys going one way and me the other."

Dean started to question John when an orderly came to take their father back to his room. The atmosphere lightened, and Sam came from the corner once John's form had cleared the doorway and the door closed. "Sammy? What's going on?"

Sam slumped down in his previously vacated chair, his frame shaking. When he lifted his head, Dean saw tears glistened in his eyes but stopped before flowing down his cheeks. Hollow eyes met Dean's, causing his heart to clench with rage at his father and despair for his little brother. Voice soft and shaking, "Dad's still mad at me for not shooting the demon. He said if the demon had died, you wouldn't have been in a coma on the verge of death. When I went in to see him two days ago, he chewed me out for not following his orders. Don't you get it? He was ordering me to shoot him; you were begging me not to. All I could think about was how much you'd hate me if I killed _both_ our parents!" His voice cracked with tension.

"Both?" Dean knew without a doubt that Sam did blame himself-idiot kid shouldering more guilt than he should bear. "You can't believe what the demon said, do you?"

"Dean, it makes sense. Remember Max and Rosie? Why _their_ Moms? Why _our _Mom? Why Jess? We were able to save Rosie's Mom, but the other died because of us…and our gifts." His voice began rising in pitch until he was just short of shouting. He stopped, visibly regained some composure and continued. "You said Dad and I are all you have. I'd do anything for you and there you were on the floor, bleeding and pleading. I won't destroy you again. I took Mom from all of us. If I had shot Dad to kill that son-of-a-bitch possessing him, I would have killed you too." Sam's voice sank until Dean could barely hear him. "I've caused too much death already." Sam buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking in the silence left behind by his anguished words.

Dean, shocked, finally shattered the silence with a coughing spasm he'd been trying to suppress. It yanked Sam out of his pit of despair to focus his energy on making his brother comfortable by getting some water and helping him sit up to drink it. Dean gently batted Sam's hands away, knowing he needed to comfort his older brother to assuage his needless feelings of guilt, yet fighting against years of being aloof toward open displays of need. Here was another fine mess, and it was once again up to Dean to fix. Dean took time to figure out what to say. He knew his brother was tearing himself apart with a guilt that had no basis in reality. A small part of Dean's mind wondered if maybe it _was_ true about the demon's attacks, but he ruthlessly squelched that thought. No time for that. Dean in no way blamed his brother. Even if Sam and his gifts were the reason Mary and Jess had died, he didn't choose to develop the gifts; they had appeared all on their own. "You're a victim too, Sammy. You lost Mom before you even got to know her and Jess…You loved her, and her death is haunting you. You saw Mom's spirit. She did **not** blame you; and neither do I." Dean forced every bit of emotion into his words to drive away the despair he saw in his brother's eyes. He needed to break through Sam's wall and maybe, just maybe, he'd talk and maybe Sam could sleep again. Sam seemed to settle a bit. The glassy look in his eyes receded, and he took a deep breath before giving Dean a one-sided grimace, probably meant to be a reassuring grin. Dean settled back, fuming, not at his brother, but at their father. John could be so single-minded. He couldn't see, maybe he didn't want to see, what his careless words were doing to his sons. Dean's hero was becoming more tarnished as time went on. As soon as he'd sent Sam back to the motel, he and his father would have some words.

"When's the last time you slept? Or ate?"

"I was asleep just now and got some coffee in the cafeteria," said Sam defensively.

Dean snorted with disgust. "No dude, I mean when was the last time you wrapped your stomach around some real food, lay down on a real bed, took your shoes off and slept for more than an hour?

Sam's eyes went out of focus as he tried to figure it out. Dean broke in.

"Look, the doctor said something about a motel? Do you have a room there?"

"Yeah, it's five blocks away. I needed a place to stash our weapons since the Impala's in the shop."

"My car!" Dean's heart plummeted at the thought of the damage to his beloved car. He briefly calculated the potential damage from the impact and winced, waiting for the news.

"It's parked in back of a garage until some parts arrive. It needs new windows,

fenders. . ." Sam's voice trailed off. "I was waiting to see if you wanted to do the repair work yourself or…"

Dean passed his hand over his eyes and sighed. That car was his life just as much as Sammy and Dad. At least it hadn't been totaled. When he got out of there, he'd start working on it until it purred and growled again. He shook his head and refocused on Sam. "What time is it?" It was dark outside his window.

Sam glanced at his watch after peeling back the edge of the sling. "8:15."

"All right. You're going back to that motel, picking up something to eat on the way, sleeping for as long as you can and NOT coming back here before 9 a.m. Look, you want to help me. Be sharp. Those things are still out there, and I need you to watch my back until I'm out of here."

Sam straightened slightly. His brother needed him and he wouldn't let him down again. "You want the laptop to listen to music?"

That earned Sam a genuine laugh. "I heard how you were terrorizing the nurse with the music," Dean chortled. "Nah, take it so they will get off our backs."

"By the way, the nurses aren't your type, so I guess you'll be out of here pretty fast." Sam grinned slyly at his brother. He knelt, unplugged the computer, and stuffed it in his battered leather bag before heading for the door. He stood in the doorway, leaned against it, gave his brother a genuine grin and said, "Man, it's good to have you back." His grin faltered, "I don't know what I'd have done if…"

"You get some sleep, Sammy."

"It's Sam" came through the door before it clicked closed.

Dean leaned back into his pillow and scrunched his eyes shut. Once again, John had pushed Sam away. Maybe his goal was to toughen his boys. That worked for Dean, but not for Sam; it never had. At least this time, Sam didn't seem inclined to leave. John was no longer the infallible warrior. His non-response regarding Lawrence. Sam's news about Dean's imminent death after being electrocuted. The pleas to fight together being shunted aside. His father would no longer be allowed to ignore his sons' angst. Dean needed his family together, not pushing each other away. He was reaching for the nurse's button when Dr. Ashcraft walked in.

"Is there a way for me to talk to my Dad face to face?" The cold tone in the young man's voice caused the drained doctor to take a step back. She had been aware of the tension between Sam and John; tension that the older brother was aware of and responding to. It was touching. The brothers were devoted to each other's well-being, ignoring all else for the sake of the other. Dean had to be feeling the pain now, yet he wanted to fix something for Sam's sake. At least she hoped it could be fixed. There was some mystery here, something beyond the gunshot wound, yet connected somehow to it, that she couldn't fathom yet.

"I can have an orderly bring him here. You shouldn't get up until tomorrow at the earliest. Your wounds healed some while you were in a coma."

"Please. I have to talk to him before Sammy comes back."

"Where did he go?"

"I told him to not come back until tomorrow so I hope he sleeps. Is there a restaurant or something between here and the motel you told me about?"

"Several. This hospital is on the main street and there are restaurants and fast food joints all up and down it."

"Good. Sometimes I have to force him to eat."

"Same cause as the nightmares?"

Dean flashed her a guarded look. "Yeah." Hopefully, he could straighten things out with his dad without having to divulge too much to the doctor. "_We do what we do, and we shut up about it_." He'd broken that rule once, and he'd paid for it.

"I'll see what I can do to get your father up here. You're sure you're up to it?"

"This is something I need to take care of now." The steel in the words was matched with the tight muscles in his jaw.

Fifteen minutes later John Winchester was wheeled in through the door. "What is so important that you had to speak to me now? Couldn't it wait until morning?" His voice was hoarse from exhaustion that his son ignored.

"What the hell are you trying to do! Didn't you listen to what that demon said to us through _your_ mouth?"

"What are you talking about?" John was still recovering from hitting his head on the Impala's passenger window and things were still confusing and disjointed sometimes.

"You. Hurting this family. Again. No," Dean chopped his hand down as his father started to speak. "Don't say anything. Don't you realize how that demon hurt Sam?"

John was confused. "Out of us all, he was hurt the least."

Dean wanted to strangle his father. All the man saw was blood from wounds. He never saw the hurt from words or actions that caused inner wounds, some that hemorrhaged beyond repair. "No! The demon confirmed Sam's belief that he caused Mom's death. Jessica's death. All that guilt was running through his mind, and _you_ order him to kill you! Then you blame him when he doesn't. If it had been one of us possessed, would you have pulled the trigger? _Is_ your need for revenge that strong that you would take your own life and leave us behind with that guilt? I know Sammy would be destroyed if he had followed your order!" Dean's voice had risen until he was shouting.

John's memory sluggishly reached towards the confrontation in the cabin. Fragments of events shot through his memory as he had struggled to gain control of his body again. Hearing his eldest plead, "Dad, don't you let it kill me!" pierced his heart once again. Seeing his son's body slump, held up only by the demon's will while blood dripped down to splash on the floor. That had actually given John the strength to fight back. Enough time for Sam to react as he was released and grab the Colt. Good boy. John's thigh throbbed with the memory of the bullet shattering flesh. Kill me! Sam's refusal. The demon abandoned his body and escaped once again. John's despair about catching it again. The car wreck. His boys' damaged bodies loaded into the ambulance. Angry words with Sam. The disdain in Dean's eyes as he stared his father down in the hospital demanding to know why.

"Did you talk to Sam or just chew him out?" John's expression changed from puzzlement to stricken acknowledgement as he remembered the angry words he had said and the wounded look in his youngest's eyes. That was the only answer Dean needed. "He began to believe he was the reason Mom and Jessica died while we were in Saganaw. I told him he wasn't, but I don't think he believed me. That demon convinced him he was, and he's ripping his own heart out. He doesn't need you to do it for him." Dean paused. "I don't believe it! If the demon had wanted Sam, why didn't it just take him? Why? Because of his _gifts_? If that's the case, Sam is in danger, but he believes _he_ is the danger. To us! Pushing him away from us is the dumbest thing you've ever done!" Dean was shocked at the words pouring out of his mouth. This was his father, his role model, his hero, that he was attacking with poisoned verbal darts. Yet Dean was Sam's shield, had been most of his life, and nothing, not even their father, would be allowed to hurt Sam again. Dean was panting with the exertion caused by his tirade and suppressed rage. He felt the heat of it wanting to overcome him, but he held it off. "Dad. _Do_ you blame him? Can you look him in the eyes and say it was_ his_ fault the demon escaped?"

John saw himself on the edge of an abyss. He had acknowledged to Sam that he'd stopped being their father and had become their drill sergeant. It was time for him to try to be the father again, but he wasn't sure how. Seated on the bed in front of him was Sam's father figure. Dean had raised his boy. The Marine, the demon hunter, had needed to harden himself and his boys against all the things out there if they were to survive. Dean had thrived on the training while Sam had not. John stepped back from the edge. "Where is he?" he asked hoarsely. It was time to try to set things right. If only. . . A million _if onlys_ marched through his mind.

Dean warily replied, "What do you plan to say? I sent him off to sleep. He was practically falling down."

"Where?"

"Dr. Ashcraft mentioned a motel to him. She'll know which one. What do you plan to say?" Dean repeated. He really needed to make sure his father wouldn't slide into a tirade if Sam talked back.

"You're right. I need to talk to him. Did I say I blamed him? I don't remember."

The confusion in his father's voice took Dean aback. They had all been hurt and probably doped up. Who knows what had been said now. Who knows what was heard. Now, all they could do was go forward and bandage all wounds.

"You say anything that sets him off and I'll. . ." Dean's protectiveness rose in a wave inside him and overwhelmed the disciplined respect John had drilled into him. "Don't you dare knock him down." Dean hissed. "He's hurting and needs to heal. He needs to know _we_ don't hate him."

"I'll talk to him tomorrow when he comes back. Under Dean's gaze, he winced, "Believe it or not, I love you and Sam. I'm just afraid for him. With that demon

still alive. . . I had hoped to stop that fear."

"What have you found out?"

"Nothing concrete." A shadow fell over John's eyes, and Dean knew he'd never get the information out of him until John was ready.

"Don't even talk to him about continuing the hunt. Convince him he's not to blame for anything." Dean pleaded. He pressed the button for the nurse to come and retrieve his father. Dean nestled into the pillows, drained. Would his dad be able to convince Sam? Did he even want to convince Sam? Dean had to believe that he did. Both of them were so ready to throw their lives away just to kill the demon that they refused to see Dean standing alone.

Dr. Ashcraft walked in and saw the look of utter despair on her young patient's face quickly vanish into a look of watchfulness. "I heard some of that. You were pretty angry with your father. You care to explain?"

"Nope. It's family stuff."

"Really," she drawled. "Well it's my business to deal with your injuries and it sounds like"

"Look. I appreciate your concern, but I can't explain. Trust me," he snorted, "you don't want to know." Dean's eyes were shadowed when they met hers.

She took another tack. "Your wound was very unusual. It looks like you were cut from inside. I know that's impossible, care to give an explanation?" She paused, hoping he would fill her in. The half-heard conversation with words like "demon" kept popping up in her mind. Inscrutable, Dean stared back. She knew she'd never get any answers tonight.

"Which motel did you send him to?

"Motel 6. Turn right as you exit the front of the hospital and go five blocks. I take it you convinced Sam?" At the nod of affirmation, she continued. "Well, then I'll take my own advice, and I hope you will as well. Good night." She exited hoping things would get better in the morning for all three men.

Dean tried to get comfortable in his bed, shut his eyes, and tried to ease the memory of his heart-wounded brother. Dean would give anything to erase the demon's words now acid-etched in Sam's memory. His breathing slowed as he fell asleep. The only sound in the room was the beeping of his monitors.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Two**

Disclaimer: I have no rights to the characters of the Winchesters, allusions to previous episodes, nor the world of Supernatural. All belong to Kripke. I am just borrowing them for my story.

It took Sam three tries before he could insert the key into the lock and enter the shabby room. Duffle bags were scattered around the room; some filled with clothes, the others with a deadly arsenal. He squirmed out of his jacket, placed the laptop on the other bed, and emptied his pockets. He collapsed more than sat on the end of the bed. Dean was all right. That mantra had been running through his mind the weary walk here. It overshadowed all other thoughts. He toed off his shoes and started to sag backwards before he caught himself. Struggling awkwardly upright, Sam went over to one of the bags and dug around, a little off balance because his arm was still trapped by his sling. The pain was manageable as a steady throb that made his teeth ache. Or maybe that was his head. His hand finally emerged from the bag grasping Dean's long knife. Precaution. Sam allowed himself to lie down, knife clenched in his fist under one pillow. Dean was all right. Sam fell into a welcome pit of oblivion.

Even being half dead from exhaustion didn't keep him under. _Something_ dragged him back out of sleep. He barely had time to register that there was someone else in the room with him before hands imprisoned his mouth and his throat while a body pinned him down against the mattress. Sam's right hand flashed out from under the pillow and the knife sliced deep across the figure's chest. He was released. Sam rolled off the side of the bed and onto his feet, back against the corner of the room. Using the blade, he sliced off the sling and shook it to the floor. His shoulder flared when he dropped his arm but mobility was more important. It was still dark in the room, so he could only see that there were three figures other than himself; one was cursing fluently. He put that one aside for the moment.

Drained as he was, Sam was able to feint and drive his opponents away; his long reach allowed him to edge towards the door. He had the advantage since they didn't seem to want to harm them while he wanted to do as much damage as he could. Goal. Sam wrenched the door open and lunged through it only to be knocked back inside. Lying on his back, he squinted in the light as his new opponent flipped the switch. Sam kept swiveling his head trying to keep his opponents in sight as he scrambled backwards. He didn't recognize any of them but their solid black pupils told him they were possessed. One figure still blocked the door; the one who had stopped him without even touching him. His yellow eyes glowed as he relished the young man's plight.

"Hello, Sammy. Here we are again." He savored the fear that rolled off his prey despite the brave façade he presented as he tried to comprehend what was happening. A foot connected with the side of his head and darkness enveloped him.

ooooOOOOoooo

Sam opened his eyes to complete darkness. His head throbbed. He reached up, crusted blood met his tentative touch. Great, more damage to his already painful skull. Groaning, he rolled over and tried to raise himself off the floor. He started to use both arms, but the shooting pain from his collarbone stopped that action. On his feet, arm outstretched, Sam explored his prison. Finding a wall, he followed it until he found a light switch. It worked. He was in what looked like an office. There was a beat up desk, tall filing cabinet, even a small bathroom. There was no window, and the door was solidly locked. Sam remembered taking his cell phone out of his pocket right before going to sleep. No help there. He'd have to do it on his own. Great. The door opened and a strange man walked in. The only thing Sam noticed was his eyes. _It_ was here, with him.

"Sammy," he chided, "Did you think you'd escape me?"

Sam lifted his chin in defiance. It was baiting him. His eyes darted around the room looking for some kind of weapon, something to take it out.

Laugher rolled through the air. "Why don't you give up? You are alone."

Sam swallowed hard. He felt dizzy with his concussion; fear rose and threatened to engulf him. John's words floated through his mind. "_You fight with whatever you have at hand, even if it's just your determination. Be ready for your enemy to slip up. Be ready so you can make your move_." Sam would be ready. This is what he'd spent the last nine months of his life hoping for. He would not go down easily.

"I have big plans for you. You are going to join me." At Sam's look of incredulity, it continued. "You will be possessed by one of us, but not in the typical way. I'm going to make you into a cage. The demon I bring forth will reside _in_ you, but you will be the one in control of your body, your gifts. It will only stop you from doing things I don't want, nibbling at the back of your mind and keeping you with me. I need your gifts; they're going to get much stronger."

"They'll get rid of it with an exorcism." Sam spat.

"They could, except for two things. I can actually credit you and your brother for this new spell aspect I thought of. When you and Dean exorcised my daughter from Meg, you killed that poor girl. The damage done to her was kept in check by the demon inside. Yet you boys didn't pause, did you?"

Sam remembered the scene at Bobby's, arguing with Dean about finishing the exorcism, in effect killing the girl. Dean had ordered him to continue with the ritual. She died.

"Well, we'll see if John can be as cold. I'm gonna hurt you, real bad, as the demon settles in. So bad, in fact, that if he manages to exorcise it, you _will_ die. Let's see if John can kill his baby boy. Or will he pause just long enough for me to stop him? That sure makes a pretty picture in my head." The demon paused, seemed to savor the moment, then turned his glance to the boy once more. Bet you're wondering about hero big brother, aren't ya? Have something to show you."

Sam was overwhelmed by the menace in the demon's voice. His vision was obscured by a blinding light. When he could open his eyes, he was in a dark room. A crib was under a window with a musical mobile above it. His breath caught when Mary Winchester walked in carrying a small boy who leaned into the crib to kiss his brother goodnight before being set on the floor. John sauntered in, scooping up the four year old in a tight hug. _Flash_. The room is dark with a figure standing above _his _crib. Mary walks in to check on Sam, is shushed, and she leaves. The figure is muttering when Mary runs back in. She screams. Sam tries to shut out the fear on her face as she is dragged up the walls until she is suspended over his crib. He cannot shut his eyes for he is seeing with his mind's eye. She is crying, trying to reach the younger version of him. The waist of her nightgown sprouts red flowers. She sobs with fear, pinned to the ceiling as John rushes in. He grabs the infant Sam, hands him over to his brother, his protector from that moment on, and turns to help Mary. She bursts into flames. _Flash_. Sam instantly recognizes his apartment in Palo Alto. Jessica drops a note on a plate of cookies before heading off to the bedroom. She starts the shower, waiting for the water to heat. Returning to the bedroom, she sees a figure, thinks it's Sam at first then draws back in fear. Sam tries to shut his eyes, but he cannot. She too is dragged up to the ceiling. She is confused. She has no idea what is happening to her. She sobs Sam's name, hoping he will help her. His name is the last word on her lips. He sees himself enter the apartment, pick up a cookie to nibble, collapse back on the bed secure in the sounds of the shower. Drops hit his forehead. Looking up, he sees what his nightmares had foretold. He is only able to escape when Dean shows up and drags him away. _Flash_. The hospital. Dean's room. This is new. Sam watches a nurse approach his brother in bed. She checks his IV and monitoring equipment. She pulls a syringe out of her pocket, injects it into the IV. As she turns, Sam sees that her eyes are pitch black. Dean's monitors go off, alarms ringing. Flat line. _Flash_.

Sam could feel his body once again, could shut his eyes finally. He sank to the floor, hands over his eyes. He had seen Jessica's body on the ceiling and had only imagined what her last moments had been like. Now he knew. He knew too much. He wanted to hide inside himself, but he couldn't shut his mind's eye. The demon had made sure of that. Now he could only close his outside eyes.

"You see, Sammy, you're all alone. Your protector is gone. John will either have to kill you, or you will watch me kill him. I think he'll fail. What do you think?" Getting no response, the demon smirked. "You have until midnight. Enjoy your last night of freedom because you _will_ belong to me."

Sam didn't hear the door close. He rocked back and forth, a wail screaming in his head. He was alone. After what seemed like hours, Sam's mind finally refocused. He wouldn't be a trap for anyone. He'd find a way to thwart the demon's plans. Sam rose to his feet, looking for a way out. John had taught the boys how to find weapons in everything around them. The office was pretty bare. Sam opened and closed drawers looking for something. He had slammed shut one of the filing cabinet drawers when something sparked his thoughts. He reopened one of the drawers. He couldn't pull out the section that restrained files, but he could use it. Sam had despaired before but not to this intensity. He didn't want to be a pawn nor did he want to be consumed by a demon. Just the thought of what the demon threatened served to strengthen his resolve. Sam pushed back his sleeves up to the elbow and fingered the side of the thin metal edge. It should do the trick. Sam braced the drawer against his leg and pressed his wrist firmly against the metal lip. He pulled upwards as hard as he could and was rewarded with a line of blood. It wasn't enough, so he tried again. And again. And again. Success. The blood rapidly welled up in the line scored in his flesh rapidly. Sam switched and repeated the process with his left arm. It was harder this time since his right hand was slippery with blood making it hard to hold onto the drawer. His injured collarbone wasn't helping either. He looked at his arms, at the blood dripping down and realized that it wasn't flowing fast enough. He knew the demon would be coming back if for nothing other than to gloat. The bathroom. Sam filled the sink with water and stuck both hands up to his wrists in the pooled water. Now it was a race. He felt himself become shaky and braced himself so his wrists stayed in the water. He watched the blood form swirly patterns with fascination. With Dean gone, his world was over. The one person he could count on to help him could not help him any more. It was up to Sam, and he'd made his choice.

Sam heard a ringing in his ears and his vision was starting to go dark around the edges when someone grabbed him from behind. He struggled but having weakened himself, he couldn't hold onto the sink's edge. Sam was flung back into the room and sprawled on the floor. The demon stood above him. "No, Sammy. That's not the way out." His hands grasped Sam's wrists and fire sprang up, searing the wounds closed. Sam whimpered with the pain and his failure. The demon forced him over to the doorway and out into the room beyond. "It's a little early yet, but I can't have you ruining my plans." The room had a wooden floor with poles spaced down the length on both sides. A circle with a pentagram was drawn on the floor. From four poles were four long ropes that joined in a pile in the center of the circle. The demon dragged Sam to the center, threw him down. Two others emerged from the darkness and bound Sam's wrists and ankles tightly so that he was spread-eagled on the floor. Sam struggled against his bonds but there was no give. His left shoulder burned from the extreme extension. The demon stood above him once more, smirked, pointed to its watch and left. The room lights turned out. Sam was left in a darkness more complete than any he had ever known.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Three**

Disclaimer: I have borrowed Kripke's creation of the world of Supernatural and his characters. I have no rights to them at all.

Dean kept glancing at the clock. 10:07. Either Sam had finally been able to sleep, which Dean highly doubted, or something was wrong. John limped heavily into the room, leaning on the cane that had been issued to him that morning. The two older Winchesters shared a glance of trepidation as Dean tried calling his brother's cell phone again. Still voicemail. Panic began to nibble at him, and he clenched his sheets to help steady himself. The demon was still out there; and so was Sam.

"I'm going to go check on him," stated John.

"Have you been discharged?"

"No, but one of us has to and you can't. You're still hooked up to those wires and the IV."

"That's easily taken care of." Dean reached up to strip them off his body but stopped at his father's voice.

"Look. If Sam is still asleep and you go barreling in, he'll feel to blame if you have a relapse."

"But if something…" Dean worried.

"Then I'll let you know and _then_ you can rip those things off." John turned around and headed out the door. "I'll call as soon as I know anything."

Dean winced. Maybe his brother needed him, and here he was tethered to a hospital bed. "Go" he called after his father's retreating back. "Find him."

ooooOOOOoooo

The sight that met John's eyes made him stagger into the wall next to the motel room's door. The place looked like a battlefield. Blood stained the sheets, splattered the walls and carpet. Any icy fist clutched at his heart as he begged, "No, please let it not be Sam's blood!" Dean's blade peaked out from under the bedskirt, covered with clotted blood. Sam had fought back. His sling lay discarded in the corner, mute testament to the man's survival training: get rid of all impediments. But where could they have taken him? John struggled to get his phone out of his jacket and dialed Dean.

It was answered before the first ring had ended. John's voice cracked, "He's not here." He was startled to hear how badly his voice was shaking. Stop. Assess the situation. Make a plan. But this was Sammy missing, and they had no trail to follow. "There was a fight. He's been taken. I think he hurt at least one of them badly."

On the other end of the line, Dean's world came crashing down. Twenty-two years later, the demon got his brother. NO. It was only temporary. Dean knew Sam would be counting on him to find him; Dean always found him. That unshakable faith that Sam had pulled Dean back into thinking mode. He would find his brother and he would keep him from the darkness.

John hung up after telling him the news. Dean started thinking again as he tried to figure out what to do. His father would be going to the police station and trying to see if there was a place in town reputed for weird or dark things. He ordered Dean to wait for his call before acting. The wait would be pure torture.

ooooOOOOoooo

All day he'd been tense, his head pounded with a fierce ache that would not go away. Dr. Ashcraft had looked in on him a few times, but he steadfastly refused to tell her what was wrong. She hoped that John and Sam were working things out. Little did she know how vain her hopes were. Dean jerked when his cell phone rang. John had no news and no clue where to start. Dean had had enough. He was determined to join the hunt. Two hunters could split up and cover more ground. He was insistent. His father relented. He would come for him so Dean had to be ready to move. His actions were interrupted when Dr. Ashcraft walked into his room. When Dean looked up, she was struck by the agonized look on his face.

"I need to get out of here," Dean demanded.

"What? You're still healing. I won't allow it."

"I don't care whether you allow it or not. Get these things off me, or I'll do it myself." Dean struggled off the bed getting tangled up in the lines.

She put out a hand to stop him, and he practically growled at her. The man was distraught; something was wrong. From what little she knew of him, the doctor knew she wouldn't be able to stop him, especially if he was as stubborn as the youngest Winchester. Sam. The young man hadn't returned when he'd promised. Overheard words from the previous night were remembered. She realized that the problem was "Sam."

Dean flinched as if struck when she spoke his brother's name. The stricken look on his face was her answer. It seemed that there was more to this than an argument. The conversation from the previous night once more swam into memory. Dean pulled off one more sensor. She knew he'd never listen to reason. She sighed, "Hold still a minute. Let me remove these." Dean stopped and allowed her to assist him. "At least let me check your stitches." She peeled back the bandage, pleased at how well he was healing, afraid she'd have to patch him up again when this "business" was over. She told him to wait while she went to get some dressings to rebandage his wounds.

A nurse came into his room, fiddled with the machines and turned towards the bed. "_Christo_." She jerked. Dean flicked holy water from the silver flask in his hand, and she stumbled back from his side. Once he knew Sam was taken, Dean had prepared for some kind of attack. Being trapped in his room did not make him defenseless. Dr. Ashcraft walked back in as the nurse scuttled out. The doctor did not realize what she had just almost witnessed.

"What was that all about?" She picked a syringe off the floor where it had been dropped. "I didn't order any medication. What's going on?"

Dean knew he'd had a narrow escape. "I have to get out of this place. They're planning something and I need …I need to find Sam"

"What? What is happening? Where is your brother? Is he okay?"

"We don't know where he is, and he's in major trouble. It's the thing that hurt us that has him." He knew he'd said too much, but this kind woman seemed to care about his family and truly seemed to want to help.

His answer died on his lips as the door swung open and John Winchester limped in. "All right Dean. Have you thought of any place they might have taken Sam? I've thought. . ." His voice trailed off as he saw the doctor standing there with her hands on her hips. The seriousness of his demeanor underscored the pain lines engraved on his face. She wasn't sure if the cause was worry or the pain he must have been feeling from his leg since he supported most of his weight on his cane. A backpack dangled from his left shoulder and she wondered about the bulky items it seemed to contain. He lowered it slowly to the floor. Looking back at her patient, she saw him straighten and walk stiffly to the closet to get his clothes. He stood with them in his hands, looked at her, shrugged, and proceeded to change. This would be his test. If he didn't fall over, she'd allow him to walk out. A part of her hoped he wouldn't succeed. Faster than she anticipated, driven by a fear she couldn't comprehend, Dean was dressed and ready to go. Walking towards his father, he stopped and sat down in Sam's chair.

"What now?" he peered up at his father, ignoring Dr. Ashcraft completely.

"We'll have to split up. Look for abandoned buildings, warehouses, whatever we see. I wish we had some idea of its plans. That might give us a hint. Maybe. . .Nah, we're too far from that warehouse in Lincoln." Despair swept over John.

Dean started as if struck. He put his hand to his forehead and put out the other to stave off all questions. The memory finally came and he looked up with hope in his eyes. "I think I have a clue."

"What? How? Where?"

"After you left us in Chicago, we holed up in Effingham for a week. Sam had a vision one night about himself. He said he didn't really see anything, but he did say his left shoulder was on fire and he was terrified of someone in the room with him. It makes sense! His collarbone. I'm sure that thing is trying to scare Sammy. Damn!" Dean's fist slammed into the chair's arm. "The things it said to him already, making him believe. . ."

"Did Sam see anything that could give us a clue to where he is?"

"No. But he said he smelled hay and that the room was big." Dean turned to Dr. Ashcraft. "Any barns in the area? Feed stores? Anything that would have a wooden floor and hay?"

"Nooo. We're not that rural. I can't think of. . ." She pinched the bridge of her nose and thought. "There was a nightclub, Rodeo something, that shut down about four months ago but hasn't sold yet. I think they had hay bales stacked against the walls as ambiance. Is that what you're looking for?"

"How close is it?" Dean sprang up and regretted the move instantly. "What's the address?"

"Let me check with one of the nurses. That club wasn't my scene, and I only vaguely know about the place."

The two Winchester men exchanged a glance. Dean walked over to the pack on the floor and started to rummage inside. Kneeling at the bag, he looked up at his father. "What do you think we're up against?"

"I couldn't tell from the motel room, but Sam put up a struggle. He really got one of them. I guess the demon took over another body, so I'm betting at least three all together, maybe a few more. You're sure this could be it?"

"This feels right to me somehow. He said he heard my voice calling his name." A shadow covered Dean's face. "The last thing he felt in the vision was heat from fire." His lips tightened. He'd rescued his brother once from fire; he'd do it again.

Both men fell into their own thoughts of the past. The demon plus fire would be bad. They turned as Dr. Ashcraft came in. She caught a glint of metal as Dean slid something into the waistband at small of his back.

"O.K." She said. "When you leave the hospital parking lot, turn right. Stay on the street for about ten miles until you hit Doniphan. Turn right on Doniphan and go about 8 more miles. The club is set back from the street so it's kind of hard to see but it has a large parking lot so you should be able to spot it. It's on the right." She paused. "Couldn't you call for help? If Sam has been kidnapped, that's a job for the authorities."

The Winchesters shook their heads simultaneously. "There's no way they know how to . . .handle this kind of thing," said Dean. He palmed something else out of the pack and into his pocket and lifted the bag with his left arm. Big mistake. He dropped it and grabbed his shoulder. Dr. Ashcraft stutter-stepped forward, halted, as she knew any efforts on her part would be sternly rebuffed. "Let me give you my number. Call me if you need to come back here in a hurry."

Dean remembered Sam saying, "My stomach explodes. I think I must have been stabbed or something." Sam would probably be hurt bad and need treatment immediately. "Thanks, I think we'll need it."

"Don't be a fatalist, Son."

"I'm not but Sammy said some other things. . ." Dean refused to enlighten his father any further.

"The sun's going down. We need to go, son."

Dr. Ashcraft watched the two men head down the hallway, determination giving them strength they would need. She turned to the desk and ordered a room for two beds to be set aside for her use. When asked the names of the patients, she turned to her head nurse and said, "Look, just get one ready. We're not short of rooms so that shouldn't be too much trouble. Just make sure the room is in my wing." She strode to the records room and pulled the charts on all three Winchesters, checked that there was units of blood in their types, and prepared to wait. She hoped the wait would be short; that they'd find the young man and that he'd be okay..

ooooOOOOoooo

It wasn't too difficult to find the club. It looked deserted but the windows seemed to flicker with a pale light, like candlelight. The men got out of the stolen car. John pulled a bag from the trunk. He took out a book, some red earth and a jug of water. "We need to cast a binding circle so I can read the exorcism ritual. You'll have to go get Sam. Can you do that?"

"Yes!" Dean grew up taking care of Sammy. This was just another time of pulling him out of harm's way. He had to believe that. This time the stakes were pretty high. If they failed. . .No. Don't think like that. "Give me some of the earth."

The two men started at the front door and separated, one going clockwise, the other counterclockwise making a solid circle of red until they met in the back. John sealed the circle with a word. "Go get your brother, Dean."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Four**

_Disclaimer: I have no rights to the characters of Supernatural or anything related to it. All belong to Kripke._

"Time's up," hissed the demon.

Sam opened his eyes. He'd been trying to hide himself inside himself, create a little pocket where no one could hurt him. The walls were built but the door just wouldn't shut. The others had placed candles at the five points and lit them. The smell of wax combined with the bitter scent of some herb Sam couldn't identify formed little piles around the circle. This was it.

The demon knelt next to Sam and sliced open his t-shirt. "You know, it's tradition to make wounds for the demon to enter the victim." He drew the knife lightly down each of Sam's ribs but didn't cut deep enough to draw blood. "But in your case, one spot is all I need to make the cage." With that, the demon leaned on the blade so that it pierced Sam's absomen right under the rib cage. Sam screamed with the pain and jerked up only to be halted by the ropes. His breath came in gasps and sweat beaded his forehead and upper lip. He barely felt the knife withdraw, barely felt the blood begin to flow down his side. His world was on fire. Fire. Right at his fingertips. The demon lifted the knife, now glistening in the flames, above Sam's heart and began to chant. A dark column appeared out of nowhere and hovered above the boy.

Three things happened at once. The knife and black column began their descent simultaneously, a wall of force shot out from Sam with gale force, and the other figures screamed when they felt the pressure of John's spell. Both knife and column halted and could not descend further. The candles were thrown into the hay where they ignited the dry straw. The herbs scattered in all directions.

The demon and Sam locked eyes. The demon could not lower its blade any further. The small flames burst and grew. The front door slammed open and Dean barreled in. The demon broke Sam's gaze and looked up. Shocked. What had happened? Why wasn't he dead? No matter but someone would pay. He tried once more to drive the blade down, but it was knocked spinning out of his hands. There was no time to finish the ritual. The flames were roaring and reaching towards the ceiling. Time to cut his losses. He walked towards the back door and the cooler air outside.

Sam had no thought other than to keep that knife away from his chest. He could feel his energy escaping with the blood pooling against his side. It would be only a short time. He had to hold on just a little bit more; then he could go into his inside room and hide. He heard Dean calling his name. That was impossible. Dean was dead. No, it must be Dean waiting for him. Maybe Mom and Jess would be there too. Dean was telling him to stop pushing him away; he couldn't reach Sam. Strength rapidly seeped out of Sam. He knew the demon had left the circle. The heat from the fire reached Sam. It was fitting in a way. He would die like those he had condemned by his very existence: Mom and Jess. Finally, he could pull the door shut. Sam closed himself away and waited for the end. His mind's eye slammed shut.

Dean beheld his worst nightmare. His brother was tied down at the demon's mercy; his whole abdomen bathed in blood. The ritual was obviously not complete but how could it be stopped? He didn't know, but he rushed forward hoping to distract the demon, take it out, anything. Dean saw Sam's hands form claws right before a haze erupted from them. The haze pushed the candles into the hay and stopped the demon in its tracks. It also stopped Dean. He could only stand there trying to force his body a little closer to that of his baby brother. Sam's mouth was open in a shout of denial. He was fighting back with everything he had, and it looked like it was working. Dean couldn't get any closer to Sam; the winds kept him from advancing. He glanced at the other possessed men, saw they could not interfere, so he focused on the enemy. It seemed to realize it could not finish, stood, smirked at Dean and walked away. No time to chase it. Get Sam.

"Sam. You have to stop. It's gone. Come on, Dude. Let me in!"

A shudder racked the bound man's body, and he collapsed inward along with the unseen wall. Dean slid to his side. The hairs on his hands were starting to curl from the heat. He drew his knife and cut the ropes that bound his brother. Sam's eyes were open, but there was no recognition in them. There was no life in them. Dean frantically searched for a pulse and found it. What was wrong?

"Sam. Come on. Get up! I can't carry you." Dean half-sobbed. His chest ached. His brother didn't respond. Dean knelt near Sam and pulled his torso upright. He struggled under the weight of his brother's body until he was able to pick him up in a fireman's carry. He struggled towards the doorway and into the cooler air.

Dean had barely cleared the threshold when his legs gave out. He looked around for his father. "Dad! Where are you? We need help!"

John heard Dean call out, but he had his eyes set on the demon. He had seen it leave the building and the circle as though the powerful spell had no effect. He straightened his shoulders. There was a score to settle; not just for him but for his boys.

The demon looked back over its shoulder. "Which will it be? Me or your boys?"

John heard Dean's voice again. Panic gave it a tone it rarely held. John stepped back from the abyss once more. He turned and hobbled off towards the front of the building.

Both boys were on the ground. Dean hunched over Sam to protect him from flying embers. A soot-stained face looked into John's. "I can't carry him, and he won't wake up. He's alive, but he won't answer me."

Sam's vacant eyes struck fear in John's heart. He leaned over and helped Dean to his feet. "All right son, let's get him up."

Together, the two men lifted Sam off the parking lot's asphalt and carried him between themselves, Dean on the left and John on the right. They staggered off to the car. John reached down with his free hand and opened the back door. "Get in first."

Dean climbed in and pulled his brother in after him. The slippery feeling of Sam's torso made him sick. How much damage were they doing just carrying him? No time. Dean slid over and Sam's legs came into the car. John folded them, wedging Sam's feet onto the floorboard, and slammed the door shut. He fell into the driver's seat and started the car.

Sam's body was completely limp against his. Dean tried to find a pulse at Sam's wrist, but it was raw and blistered looking. He put his fingers on his brother's neck. His pulse was rapid and weak.

"Here Dean." John tossed the first aid kit into the back seat. Dean dug through it until he found the gauze pads. Not nearly enough to stop the bleeding. Dean turned on the ceiling light to assess the damage. Sam's wound was bleeding profusely. Dean pressed his right hand over the wound, hoping the compression would help. He used his left hand to pull out his phone and dialed the newest number.

"Dr. Ashcraft. We've got Sam, but he's hurt real bad. He's been stabbed and is losing blood very quickly. We're on our way."

Hanging up the phone, the doctor set her emergency triage team on alert. Fortunately there had not been another emergency. She ran to the emergency room doors, waiting for a car to appear out of the darkness.

Dean cradled his brother's head in one hand and whispered in his ear. "We got you, Sammy. You're with us. You're safe. Please come back. Come on. You can't give up on me. I need you." His words became incoherent, but he hoped Sam could hear it was him.

John used the mirror to check on his boys. Dean never looked up once. He kept his eyes on Sammy. When would this nightmare ever end?

_TBC_

_Hope you all like this so far; I've enjoyed writing it._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Five**

_Disclaimer: I have borrowed the characters and realm of Supernatural for this story. Kripke and his people have all rights to them._

The car came to a screeching halt outside the emergency room. Orderlies opened the back door to ease the lanky figure out. Sam was pulled off his brother's lap and onto a gurney. Before Dean could even start to climb out of the car, the emergency room doors had swung shut behind the flurry of activity. Dean wearily emerged from the car. His dad pulled the car to the side of the parking lot and got out. Both stumbled into the building and down the hall. They were halted by Dr. Ashcraft's head nurse, Kathleen Elmore.

She took one look at Dean's pinched features and told him, "You are to go to Room 109. You're already admitted. No. Don't say another word. The doctor set this up. She will go directly there and give you the news. From your looks, I bet you tore open your stitches. Go on. I'll be there in a minute."

Dean felt the last bit of energy leaving his body and knew that if he didn't sit down, he'd fall down. Both men followed the nurse's pointing arm. In the room, Dean collapsed into a chair, his head dropped down to his chest. He opened his eyes and gagged. His hands, arms, and shirt were covered in blood. Sam's blood. He staggered to the bathroom, stripped off his jacket and shirt and started to scrub. He kept scrubbing until his arms turned red.

John, who had entered behind him, limped over and turned off the water. "That's enough." John eyed the dressing on his son's chest. It was crimson from his own blood.

Nurse Elmore walked in with a tray of sutures and bandages. "Let's see what you did to yourself." She clucked as she peeled off the bandage. "Well, you tore your stitches. Lie down on the bed, and let me do my job."

The anesthesia injection deadened the pain in Dean's shoulder, but it couldn't give him the oblivion he craved. The memory of Sam's empty eyes seemed to accuse him, "Why didn't you come sooner." Dean choked off a sob that threatened to erupt from his throat. "When will we know?"

"Doctor Ashcraft will come here as soon as she can. You and your brother will be sharing a room so once he's out of recovery, you can see him."

Dean felt his world steady. If the doctor had planned for them to share a room, that meant that she wouldn't keep the two of them apart. She seemed to realize that the two of them would need each other's support in the long days ahead. If. . . No! Sam had to be all right. There was no other option.

Nurse Elmore told him to change into a gown and climb back into bed. Once he had complied, she inserted another IV.

When the two men were alone once more, their long wait for news began.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Six**

_Disclaimer: Kripke and his extremely talented staff own all rights to the Winchesters and Supernatural. I have borrowed them for this story._

Hours later, the door opened to Dean's room and a very weary Dr. Ashcraft eased in quietly. John was sitting hunched over, staring at the floor. Dean was in bed, which surprised her, but sat up quickly as soon as he saw her. Without any other preamble, she began. "A knife pierced his intestines and that's going to take a while to heal. We have to be careful about infection. The biggest problem he has to face is blood loss. He also had some wounds on his wrists that looked cauterized. Did you do that?"

"No, he wasn't bleeding from his wrists when I found him." What had happened to Sam? Had he done it to himself? Was it something that _thing_ had done to him?

"Anything else?"

"Well, his collarbone had to be reset. He's in recovery and doing as well as can be expected. The only other thing is. . ."

"What?" Dean remembered the blank look in Sam's face.

"He's catatonic. He doesn't respond to any outside stimuli. Tests show his brain is functioning, but he's just not responding. It happens when someone is under extreme stress or had a severe shock. I'm thinking Sam had both." She paused to let her words sink in.

"When will he come back?" John asked softly. Dean could only stare at her.

"I don't know. It could be a long time. I've arranged for both young men to share a room. Maybe Dean can bring him out of it. You must promise me, young man, that you will not hurt yourself trying to help Sam. I need you to rest; Sam needs you to rest, or you can't help him."

"When will you bring him here?"

"If he continues to recover at the rate he is now, within a few hours. I'm going back down to check on him. He's alive and not in any immediate danger. Your call, Dean, alerted me so I had everything ready. We were able to give him an immediate transfusion without having to type. The rest of it. . . well, I hope you can reach him. I don't know how to deal with that." She turned and exited the room, leaving two defeated men behind her.

The door opened and an orderly wheeled a new bed into the room. Dean tried to see his brother's face but stayed in bed out of the way. He wanted to _see_ Sam when he was finished and gone. Finally he was done setting up all the machines and IV's; the orderly left. Dean struggled out of bed and joined his father beside the youngest Winchester. Sam's face was pale, hair sticking up from his head in jagged peaks. Dean reached a shaky hand to smooth the unruly locks. Sam's eyes were open but nothing registered in them. John had hoped that Sammy would wake from his nightmare. He staggered back to his chair and sank down. Dean dragged his chair over next to Sam's bed. He took his brother's hand and started talking to him. He believed if Sam knew he was safe that he would come back.

ooooOOOOoooo

Dr. Ashcraft had bet herself what she would find and she wasn't surprised: Dean was asleep, his head pillowed on his brother's bed. However, she was surprised at a line of white powder across the doorway. It looked as if it had been put there intentionally. Housekeeping would have a fit. She went over to Dean and shook him awake, reminding him of his promise. "Get back into your own bed and sleep for a while."

Dean complied with an anguished look back at Sam. He had not moved once in the night. What could they do? How could they reach him? Only the anesthesia of sleep stopped the thoughts circling in Dean's head.

ooooOOOOoooo

Sunlight was streaming into the room when Dean awoke. His father was gone. Dean slipped out of bed to check on his brother. He looked down and memories of a happy Sam, an angry Sam, a hurt Sam flashed through his mind. An empty pit equal to his brother's gaze threatened to engulf him. He swung around as the door opened, and his father was framed in the opening.

"I've got an idea, son. It's about a five hour trip from here to Lawrence."

"Missouri? Will she help?"

"I called her, and she said she'd try. I think she might be able to reach Sam with her gifts. Watch your brother. It will take me about a day. I don't know if I can drive nonstop with this leg, and I know Missouri can't drive that far to come here." The door eased shut behind John's retreating back.

Dean turned back to Sam. "Hey buddy, come back. Nothing is going to come at you right now. Dad's gone to get Missouri. She'll make you listen to me." Dean hoped she wouldn't blame him for falling down on the job and letting Sam get hurt. His breath caught in his throat. Dean got up long enough to grab a pillow from his bed, stuff it behind his back, sit down and prop his legs up on another chair. He settled with one hand on Sam's forearm. And began to talk. Dean shared parts of himself he had never shared with anyone else. His fears. His drives. His goals. He felt safe doing it while Sam couldn't respond, give him that accusatory glare or his patented "puppy dog" look.

Darkness found Dean still talking. He was drained. There were still some things he had kept in his innermost self, but Sam, if he had heard, would know more about Dean than he ever had before. Dean's voice trailed to a stop. A silence filled the room that was broken only by the monitor's beeping.

Dr. Ashcraft saved the Winchester room for her last visit of the day. Neither patient was critical, and she hoped that some improvement had occurred for both their sakes. A heart-rending sight met her eyes. Dean had his feet propped up on a chair but leaned against the side of the bed, his head resting on Sam's right arm. She moved slowly so as not to startle him. "Any change?" she whispered.

Dean's chin lifted and she was taken aback by the dark shadows under his eyes. "No," he croaked. His voice was harsh from talking all day. She turned her attention towards the still figure on the bed. Sam's eyes still gazed at nothing. His wan face was crowned by a thick thatch of hair that had been smoothed carefully and lovingly.

"Where's your father?" John had been hovering over both sons, so his absence was obvious.

"He's gone to get help."

"Do you know a psychiatrist who deals with catatonia?"

"Nooo. Missouri is a family friend who might be able to reach Sam wherever he is."

"What can she do that you can't? I would think that you of all people would be able to reach Sam."

Dean had to make a choice. Should he tell her nothing. . .something…or all about their life? The compassion visible in her eyes decided Dean. Something. "You'll need a seat."

Bemused, she pulled up a chair not knowing what to expect but sensing it would be a shocker. She wasn't mistaken.

Taking a deep breath, Dean began. "Our mom was killed when Sammy was six months old. A . . .demon killed her." He paused to check her reaction.

A lifting of the brows was the only visible sign. Inwardly, she wondered what the family was? Were they deluded? Their injuries. . Dean's chest wound from the inside out. It helped convince her that there was something bizarre here. She'd hear him out.

Seeing she wasn't going to call for an orderly to tie him down, Dean continued with a much-edited version. "Dad trained me and Sam how to hunt from the moment we could hold a weapon. As we got older, he took us on hunts. We moved a lot. Sam . . . left us to go to college." Should he tell her? "Dad disappeared and we went to find him. Sam's girlfriend was killed, just like Mom. We've been on the road looking for Dad. The demon. We found both. That's what happened, how we got hurt. It's what caught Sam and tried to kill him."

It was obvious that Dean believed this. It explained a lot. "What's that across the door?"

"Salt. It repels them."

Dr. Ashcraft had seen a lot of weird things during her residency. "So how can this Missouri help Sam?"

"She's a psychic. She might be able to get inside his head. I'm betting he kinda hid from what the demon was doing. . .or saying." Sam had been torn apart by what he'd been told in the cabin. Dean hoped he could give Sam support enough to believe in himself and his place in this family. He swallowed. "I've seen her in action; she's the real thing." Remembered rebukes about his thoughts made him flush.

"You've given me a lot to think about. I hope your friend can help Sam. Dean. You _have_ to sleep in your bed. How can you help Sam if you're hurting? I'm sure he knows you're here. Come on."

Dean levered himself out of his chair to clamber into bed. "Satisfied?"

"Only if you stay there." She honestly didn't believe he'd stay there the whole night, but she hoped he'd get some rest. He really did need to recover from his injuries. Saying goodnight, she left.

Dean counted to 1000, slunk out of bed and resumed his post. Authority figures be damned. Sammy needed him.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Seven**

_Disclaimer: The Winchesters and Kripke own all rights to the characters of the Winchesters and the world of Supernatural. I have borrowed them for this story._

Dean's watch ended when Missouri Mosley bustled into the room. He inched upright in his chair. Time to rescue Sam from himself. He winced as Missouri approached, but she only touched the crown of his head with compassion. The pain pouring out of him was obvious to her. Squeezing his shoulder, she turned her attention to the still form on the bed.

Sam still looked towards the wall. She noticed that Dean had chosen to sit so that he could not see Sam's face. If he could not see the vacant gaze, he could pretend that Sam was only sleeping or unconscious. To her, Sam was a blank spot in the room. She reached out to touch his hand, and the closely shielded internal turmoil almost sent her to her knees. She turned to the other Winchesters. "It's only Sam. There's nothing else in there with him." They relaxed from their unspoken fear. "I can sense him, but he has built up a wall. It will take some time for me to reach him, and, I think, I'm going to need your help." The look she turned to Dean made him wary. What would he have to do? "I need you to go with me. Sam will respond to you. I can get you there, but only you can convince him to come back."

John Winchester started. Yes, Dean had been more of a father to Sam than John. But still . . .

Missouri turned her look on him. "John! You and Sam lock horns so much that he might stay there just to spite you! And don't you laugh, boy, this isn't going to be easy."

Dean sobered at her rebuke. "What's so hard about it?"

"What's in there," she said, pointing to Sam. "I don't know it all, but that demon showed Sam something that scared him. I need a bit more time to get a feel for things before we start. Why don't you two get something to eat? I want to check a few things out."

John looked at Dean, shrugged. "What do you want? No, don't tell me, M & M's. I'll be back in a few."

Dean retreated to his bed, watching, curious about what Missouri was going to do.

"Boy, stop thinking so loud. I'm not going to hurt him. I need to see what we're up against. I'm getting flashes from him. You're not going to like seeing them."

"See them? What do you mean?"

"We're going to have to go through Sam's recent memories to find him. He's hiding from them, not us. The best I can describe it is that Sam has locked his _self_ away from all memories that are bad."

"Whew. That's going to be a lot of stuff."

"Yes, so you see what we're up against. I'm betting that most of this stuff is from the two of you hunting, maybe going even further back. I don't know. I just know it's going to be hard."

"Will it find us Sam?"

"Oh, honey, it should."

"Then let's do it." Dean was resolute. Anything to get that look off Sam's face would be worth it. He was so vulnerable to attack. They couldn't take care of him themselves, and they surely couldn't leave him unprotected. He drew evil like a magnet; it wouldn't take long for something to find him.

"Then hush and let me look."

Chastened, Dean leaned back into his pillows. She freaked him out sometimes.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Eight**

_Disclaimer: I have borrowed the Winchesters and the world they inhabit from Kripke and his talented team. They own it all. Lucky them._

Missouri had drawn up two chairs next to Sam's bed. One for her and one for Dean. John was in a chair against the wall. He had taught the boys from early on to depend on each other, and they were so much closer than other siblings. Still, he knew Mary would be disappointed that he and Sam were not closer. Maybe, no he _would_, be able to straighten things out so father and son would not be at each other's throats all the time.

Sam's right hand was cradled in Missouri's left hand while Dean's was in her right. "Don't say anything, boy. Just relax and let me _pull_ you along."

Dean felt like a fool believing in what they were trying. Only the fact it was for Sam made him want to try. Even after all the things he had seen, he still didn't have much faith in what he couldn't see. The stakes were too high, though, so he had to believe that she could do what she promised. He closed his eyes and waited.

Pictures formed in Dean's mind. He heard a voice speaking to Sam, "_Have something to show you."_ Dean saw what Sam was shown. Unlike his brother, he could feel Missouri's "hand" on his hand, so he knew she shared the visions, the pain, the grief. Dean saw their mother die. He had barely met Jess, so he wasn't torn apart like Sam surely was. He was shocked with his own close call. He saw Sam slash his wrists, and the demon saving his life. Not out of compassion, but for a purpose that was horrible to contemplate. No wonder Sam had withdrawn, seeing all the death that, knowing him, he blamed on himself. Dean now knew why Sam refused to wake up; now _he_ had to give him a reason to wake up. A door centered in an endless wall appeared in his mind. Encouraged by Missouri, Dean walked up to it. "Go on, boy, knock. You're on your own," a soft voice whispered inside his mind.

"Great," Dean muttered before tentatively knocking. No answer. If Sam was hiding, there was no way he'd open up. Dean sent a call outward. There was a feeling of denial, the knowledge that Dean was dead. Dean sent back another call, reminding Sam of long-ago events that only he should have known. After a brief wait, the door creaked open. It was not what Dean had expected. A Sam from twelve years ago opened the door.

"What?" piped the younger Sam.

"Can I come in?"

"Who are you?"

"It's Dean." A wave of dizziness swept over Dean, and when he opened his eyes, he was closer to Sam's height. He too looked like his younger self. Dean wondered why Sam had chosen that age as being _safe_. Sam was already going with Dad and Dean on hunts, mostly staying in the car but very aware of their missions. Sam burst through the door and latched onto Dean. He began sobbing and led Dean back into the room. Both boys sank to the floor.

"Sammy, why won't you wake up? I need you back with us, with me."

Sammy snuffled, "Why should I? Everyone around me dies. You died."

"No Sam, I didn't."

"But you're here. There's no way _you_ could do that," he said with childlike certainty.

The determination in Sammy's voice made Dean smile. Once Sam got an idea in his head, it was very difficult to convince him otherwise. "Sammy, Missouri brought me here. We're back in the hospital. Dr. Ashcraft put us in the same room. I'm keeping an eye on you, Sammy. I won't let you down again. Dad and I got you out of that club." He snorted, "Man, you stopped the demon cold, burned the place to the ground. You used the shining, Dude."

Sammy burrowed into Dean's side. "I don't want to remember."

"Yeah buddy, I know. I saw what it showed you." Dean's hand rubbed a slow circle on Sammy's back, an unconscious action from thousands of other conversations from their youth. "I wish I could have found you before it did that. I'm so sorry."

Tears flowed down both boys' cheeks while they remembered those they had lost. Sometime later, Dean raised his head. Both of them had reverted to their adult selves. He turned Sam around so he could look him in the eye. "Sam. You can't stay here. You have to wake up."

"Why should I? I am so tired of fighting. Dad…"

"Dad went to the hotel to talk to you, to apologize. Yeah, he was upset, but I think he was more furious at himself than you. He got himself captured. He failed _first_. Your choosing not to shoot him came second."

Sam was shocked. Dean had always seemed to have unshakable faith in their father. Now that faith seemed broken. Or at least challenged. Sam remembered other times when Dean had stood up to John for his sake. And here Dean was, begging, once again, for Sam to do something for Dean.

"Sam. I can't do this alone. I can't watch you lying in that bed, or any other bed with no will to live. I can't protect you and keep things from hurting you if you don't wake up. I . . . Please Sammy, I need you."

Sam turned away. Here he was safe. Nothing could touch him. But _here_ wasn't anywhere, and Sam wasn't sure he wanted to stay there forever. "Do you know the way back?"

His half smile made Dean's heart jump with joy and then confusion. "Uh, not really. Huh. Missouri didn't tell me what to do to come back. Any bright ideas College Boy?"

"Great. You came to get me, and you didn't have any plan to get us out. Dean. You . . ." Sam started to laugh. It was laugher on the verge of tears, but laugher all the same. "You really do need me." Dean looked at Sam and started to laugh too.

Both boys were still chuckling when Dean felt himself whacked on the back of the head. They both heard Missouri say, "Well, what are you waiting for? Sam and Dean, come on."

"I guess we have our marching orders. Come on Sam. Let's get outta here. I want a beer."

"You said we were in the same hospital room. You're still hurt. It hasn't been that long has it?"

"No, we rescued you about three days ago. What, you think you grew a gray beard there, Rip?"

"No." Sam opened his door. "Which way?" They felt a tugging to the left and facing that direction, shot into a silvery grey cloud. Both felt a warm hand in theirs. It was Missouri bringing them back.

ooooOOOOoooo

They opened their eyes at the same time. Dean's chair shot back as he stood up quickly. He looked into his brother's eyes which were aware for the first time in days. Dean's smile was mirrored by Sam's grin which became a gasp. Sam clasped his arm across his midsection as he once again could feel his body. He'd forgotten being stabbed. Other aches and pains made themselves known. He looked up as John tentatively approached his youngest son's bedside.

"Sam." John's voice shook. "Thank God you're awake. I need to tell you. . ." He cleared his throat. "When I thought we'd lost you. . .With you thinking. . .I'm not mad at you! The important thing is that you're back and okay."

"If I may?" Dr. Ashcraft stepped forward. "I would like to check things out. If the two of you would step out and you," she glared at Dean, "get back in bed. This should take only a short time."

Dean had no idea when she had come into the room. He wondered what the doctor had seen. Missouri had stepped back out of the way. She reached out her hand which was met by Dean's. Heartfelt thanks burned in his eyes. He was forever in her debt. She had given him back his little brother, his purpose for life. Bone tired, he crawled into bed. He listened as Dr. Ashcraft asked Sam a series of questions, secure in the comfort that Sam was back.

When the doctor left, silence filled the room. A soft sob crossed the room. Dean shut his eyes in sympathy. "Sammy, I wish you had never seen that. You need to remember them when they were happy."

"Dean. I never knew Mom when she was happy or anything."

"She was happy with you. She did love you; she wanted you."

"I thought I'd lost everything when it showed you dying. I hated myself for being the reason."

"Sam." The guilt in Sam's voice tore Dean apart. Even if the demon had wanted Sam and killed Mom and Jessica, he had no choice in being born, especially with gifts like he had. But could he convince Sam? "You were wanted by the three of us. We both need you. I need you; I've told you before. You know I hate these chick-flick moments, but Sammy, believe me, it would kill us if we lost you." There was only silence from the other bed.

Finally, Sam's voice crossed the void between the beds. "Thanks for saving my life, Dean. We. . . I guess we have to start all over." They both thought about the long road before them. Dean was conflicted. He wanted to tear the demon apart for hurting Sam, but he couldn't risk Sam's life in revenge. If Dean went after the demon, Sam would be with him and throw himself on his own pyre just to take it with him. What to do? Watch and wait. And protect Sam from the demon and himself.

_A/N: This was my first fan fiction stor__y. I hope you will let me know what you thought of it. Thanks so much for taking the time to read it all._


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